


Under the Bludgeonings of Chance

by jesterlady



Category: Roswell (TV 1999)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s01e15 Independence Day, Extended Scene, F/M, Goodbyes, Literal Sleeping Together, Past Domestic Violence, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 20:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterlady/pseuds/jesterlady
Summary: He just stood there because he couldn’t leave and he couldn’t beg and he didn’t even know what he wanted.  He felt incapable of doing anything but stand there and ask her silently to fix him when he knew he couldn’t be fixed.





	Under the Bludgeonings of Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell. Some lines are from the show. The title is by William Ernest Henley.

He wandered.

He did that a lot actually. He didn’t think anyone knew how much, certainly not Hank who could barely remember what happened the previous day let alone keep track of the kid he was supposed to be looking after. Not Max and Isabel because they were tucked in safe and secure with their human parents, playing happily ever after.

Tonight was different though, because tonight he could never go back. It wasn’t that he wanted to stay, but the idea of trying to figure out what to do next was daunting. He was used to bouncing around from place to place. Hank was the longest he’d ever stayed anywhere and that was only because Michael was old enough to mostly fend for himself and keep out of Hank’s way when he was drunk and mean. He’d behaved himself, controlled himself, and never said anything about the abuse because if he did, well, then people would know. The right kind of people would try to send him away and he didn’t want to leave Max and Isabel.

But now…they didn’t need him, he wasn’t even sure half the time if they wanted him. They shared a bond, but it was only that of being the same species. The two of them had their cozy little family and passing grades and human lovers. Well, one out of three wasn’t bad. Except he doubted he could really count that, he’d pushed Maria away and that was for the best. They were too different and she wanted things he couldn’t give her.

It didn’t stop him from wishing in his most honest moments that it didn’t have to be that way.

He’d never been able to manage what it seemed like every person on the planet could manage; a basic human existence and purpose. Even his alien siblings could manage that. Michael was somehow defective and now tonight he’d finally lost his cover and defense and he had nowhere to go. He couldn’t even find refuge with Max and Isabel. They just couldn’t understand that being in their false, loving environment was stifling, like a slap in the face. He didn’t know how to function there like they did. Besides, they were just waiting for him to mess up and he’d rather not satisfy their expectations to their face, it was only a matter of time before he did it anyway. They were settling and he wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than their planet of origin.

So, he wandered with even more helplessness than usual. It started to rain, which was the most fitting environment he could imagine for his situation. He might not get sick, but he knew he was cold and wet and lost. Maybe the cold weakened his defenses; maybe the rain allowed him space to cry without anyone being able to see. Maybe he was wallowing in self-pity and thinking only of himself as Isabel seemed to think. But she just didn’t understand that he’d never known anyone else who would. Even the two of them didn’t really know him. He was alone.

Without realizing it, he found his feet had taken him to the back of Maria’s house. He didn’t know why, she was probably angry at him after he’d started mumbling about mud the last time she’d kissed him. She would likely demand explanations and try to dig her way inside of him when that was the last place anyone should try to be. It was late and he probably looked like a disaster and who knew if her mom was home. All in all, it was a very bad idea and he should go somewhere else, like under the school bleachers where at least he would be somewhat sheltered from the rain. 

But he stayed there, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, looking at her window like some homeless stalker. She was there; he could see her outline through the droplets on the glass and the bead curtain over the window. He could tell when she spotted him and started taking some of those stupid oils she insisted helped her to function. She spread the curtain and said something. He walked toward her a few steps, almost involuntarily. He couldn’t hear a word but he was fairly certain it wasn’t welcoming and involved the word no quite a lot.

He just stood there because he couldn’t leave and he couldn’t beg and he didn’t even know what he wanted. He felt incapable of doing anything but stand there and ask her silently to fix him when he knew he couldn’t be fixed.

She stood up and left the window and he sighed, that was to be expected. He kept standing there though. He’d have to leave eventually, the sun would come up, people would notice and call the Sheriff and that was the last thing he needed, but just being there was somehow helping. He was surprised to see her leave her house and come toward him. Did she want to yell at him so much she’d come out in the rain to do it? Instead, she grabbed his hand and roughly pulled him forward. He followed her blindly out of the rain, into the warmth of her house. She was wet now, too, and she grabbed a towel and silently led him into her room.

She rubbed the towel through his hair. The bad thing about this situation was that he was actually there in her room, dripping wet, with no explanation as to why, nothing to offer beyond the tears he couldn’t seem to stop crying and he no longer had the rain to mask them.

“You could get pneumonia,” she said. “Here, take your shirt off, hold on.” She helped him pull his jacket off until he had only an undershirt on and then looked at him. “You’re shivering.”

She rubbed the towel over his arms.

She looked concerned, uncomfortable, and he couldn’t blame her. He was a huge inconvenience in this moment and he’d noticed her mom’s car and now he knew what a risk she was taking by having him in the house. He’d done nothing but push her away and now he was practically pleading for sanctuary. He didn’t know why she’d come out to him. He’d done nothing to deserve it.

She put a hand to his face and put a thumb on his tears. He blinked but he still couldn’t say anything, long, wet breaths the only sound he was capable of making.

“Come here,” she said, pulling him again. 

He robotically followed her and numbly got on her bed, lying on his side with his back to her. The bed felt miraculous and she got in bed with him, spooning against his back, but leaning over him, running her hand up and down his side and arm, her other hand in his hair.

The warm gesture broke him even further and he resolutely clenched his jaw to keep from weeping, but sounds escaped him anyway.

“Sh, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me, it’s okay,” she whispered.

She continued to rub his arms and kiss his wet head and whisper comforting nonsense and the warmth of her body began to take the chill from him. He didn’t think anyone had ever touched him like this, like they wanted to give him peace. Like he was worth comforting. Isabel hugged him sometimes and there was the occasional slap on the back or handshake with Max, but this was an entirely new experience. It was what he’d always imagined going home would feel like, people surrounding him, wanting him, letting him be who he really was. It was something he’d never really been able to picture fully, but now he knew when he’d tried, this is what he’d been going for.

Slowly, he wasn’t sure how, he felt the tight band around his chest loosen and he didn’t feel the need to cry but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and face her. He didn’t want to see the pity in her eyes because even if she didn’t know what was wrong, she’d seen him vulnerable and broken and he’d never let anyone see that before. They could see his anger and his rage, but never his sadness.

He wanted to let her know what it had meant to him though, wanted her to feel something of the warmth she made him feel. He just didn’t know how, he was completely clueless how to share anything like that. He wasn’t made for it, that’s what he told himself sometimes, but he knew that was a lie. Or maybe he wasn’t made for it, but he could have learned it, except no one had ever bothered to show him and by the time he knew he should learn, he was too busy distancing himself and figuring out how to avoid learning.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, forcing the words from his throat.

They sounded raw and harsh in the sudden silence even though they hadn’t really been talking before. Her hand stilled on his hair and then continued its soothing motions.

“You’re welcome,” she said, placing a kiss on the corner of his jaw.

She nestled her head in between his shoulder blades and let her hand on his head move underneath it, and he grasped it with his. He was relieved, relieved she wasn’t asking anymore of him, because right now he had literally nothing to give.

The night wore on and he gradually relaxed under the feel of her warmth and the comfort of non-threatening silence. He felt safe in a way he couldn’t remember feeling in…well, probably never. He could sleep here, in her arms, in her bed, with her presence beside him. 

Naturally he was awakened by her mother physically attacking him and he grabbed his things and ran, the instinct to flee from physical violence so strong, he didn’t even think about it. In a way he was grateful, because then he didn’t have to have an awkward conversation with Maria when they woke up together. Of course, he couldn’t help but think about what waking up with her would be like for the rest of the day. That is when he wasn’t worrying over what he was going to do that night and trying to figure out his next step. He just couldn’t go through another foster home placement and he couldn’t stay with Hank. His options were limited and he was worried about what Hank would remember.

Then to cap it off, he was hauled into the sheriff’s office from school under suspicion of doing something to Hank, and questioned by Valenti. Perfect, just perfect. Because he didn’t do anything. He’d always been petrified that he would lose control and that’s why he’d taken so many beatings over the years. Getting into the system and being fingerprinted and submitting to medical exams was going to ruin everything. He was going to have to run. Somehow telling everyone that he’d broken down and crawled into bed with the only girl who’d ever shown him kindness was not an option. After what she’d done for him, he couldn’t do that to her.

Until she told, until she got her mom to vouch for him, until she came for him.

He couldn’t believe it when he saw her there and she smiled almost shyly at him.

Her mom sent him and Maria out to wait and he followed her to the benches in silence.

“Are you okay?” she asked, not looking at him.

He appreciated that, but he also didn’t really want to talk. He wanted to hold last night as a good memory without having to dissect it, or remember the horror that preceded it.

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said shortly.

She sat down next to him and sighed and he knew in that moment that she knew. Someone, likely Isabel with her big mouth, had told Maria about what Hank did. He was irrationally angry that she knew because for him it took away some of the beauty of her actions the night before. Now if she was kind it was because he was a charity case, the poor little abused alien boy.

“Listen, Michael, you don’t have to say anything. I meant what I said last night. I’m not going to pry into your personal business, okay?”

“Thanks,” he said, looking at her for the first time, his anger alleviated somewhat.

She might know, but she still looked at him the way she’d always looked at him.

She smiled slowly.

“Do you mind if I ask why me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, dreading her response.

“Uh, why did you come to me?”

He shrugged.

“I didn’t really mean to,” he said, not sure if he could elaborate.

“Oh,” she said, and then hesitated before she spoke again. “I’m glad you did.”

He waited; he even tried not to say it.

“Me too.”

“Are you going back to the trailer park?” she asked, almost cutting him off and he wondered if she was trying not to feel expectations of what his answer could mean.

“No,” he said, studying his hands. “I’m leaving.”

He’d made that decision not just in the heat of the moment, not just as a reaction to the criminal suspicion laid on him. No, it was the only thing he could think to do, the only avenue left open to him.

“For another foster home?” she asked.

He schooled his features into an impassive mask and looked at her.

“I’m leaving Roswell.”

“But…Max, Isabel,” she said. “The whole alien crew, don’t you have to stick together?”

“They’re not interested in our past anymore,” he said. “They have something here. If I’m going to make it, it’s going to be on my own.”

“I think that’s stupid,” she said. “You guys are a family.”

He was almost glad she was back to insulting him. If she was careful and sweet and open much longer, he’d fall at her feet and beg her to let him stay with her forever just so he could feel like he’d felt last night again. She didn’t deserve that.

“Yeah, well, you don’t get a vote,” he said sharply.

She sighed.

“Clearly not. So fine, go, run away.” She paused again. “Just…be careful, Spaceboy. Maybe drop us a postcard every now and then.”

“Sure,” he said, but they both knew he wouldn’t. He could hear the sound of a door shutting and knew her mom was probably coming back. Valenti had already given him his marching orders and Michael really didn’t want another lecture and possible paper-smacking from her mom. Surely he could allow himself this one moment before it was all gone. He reached over and put a hand on her cheek and leaned in, kissing her jaw, mirroring the place that she’d kissed his the night before. “Goodbye, Maria.”

He stood up and left, walking away, and it was harder to do than he’d thought it would be.

“Goodbye,” she said softly after him.

Later, when he didn’t leave after all, he thought about that moment over and over again and knew that he could never ask to take that goodbye back. From now on, him leaving would be a tangible obstacle between them. He still didn’t regret saying it, because if he had left, he would have regretted not saying goodbye to her and to the possibilities and kindness she offered him, to the way she had treated him as himself, as valuable. He could never be what she wanted him to be, what he wanted to be sometimes, but for one night, one night, it had almost been possible, and that night was owed acknowledgement.


End file.
